


Slip

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidents, Caring Greg Lestrade, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Mycroft Holmes, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26663608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: Mycroft slipped on the stairs. Greg was just glad he was there.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 26
Kudos: 172





	Slip

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookjunkiecat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/gifts).



It was an ordinary Sunday afternoon. Greg was in the kitchen, rifling through the cabinets, trying to decide on what to make for dinner. Suddenly he heard a loud thump from the direction of the living room, followed by a quickly hushed cry of pain.

Greg dropped what he was doing and ran into the living room. Mycroft was lying at the bottom of the stairs, looking dazed and trying to get himself up.

"Oh no you don't. Stay there," said Greg, hurrying to his side. "I'm going to call an ambulance."

"I slipped," muttered Mycroft. "I'm fine."

"No you're not." Greg gently pushed him back down as he tried to get up again, then hurried to grab his mobile, quickly dialing emergency services. He rattled off the address and what had happened. It was a testament to Mycroft's state of mind that he lay back and closed his eyes and stayed silent while Greg talked. Ordinarily Greg would have expected him to grab the mobile from him. Doing nothing almost worried him more.

"Mycroft is there anyone I need to call?" he asked.

"Text Anthea," he muttered. 

“Alright," said Greg, gently smoothing his hair back and feeling the beginning of a lump.

There was a knock out the door. Almost suspiciously fast, but then again, it was Mycroft. Greg went to let them in, going to grab Mycroft's phone so he could text his assistant. He let her know what had happened and that he was following the ambulance to the hospital. His heart was in his throat hearing Mycroft groan softly as he was put in a stretcher and wheeled out.

Greg grabbed his keys and quickly followed them, carrying both mobiles. He focused on breathing and not getting into an accident of his own as they went to the hospital.

Somehow, he was unsurprised to find Anthea already there when he came into the emergency room. He handed her Mycroft's mobile. "They've taken him back for evaluation. You'll have to wait."

"Right. I'm not family." Greg walked over to a chair and slumped down, feeling himself start to shake now that the immediate danger was past.

Anthea sat down next to him. Greg took a breath and sent a text to Sherlock, wondering if he'd even look at his phone. As much as the two of them didn't get on, he knew Sherlock didn't want to see his brother hurt.

"You acted correctly," said Anthea, looking at her own mobile. "He will be fine."

"Oh I'm sure. I don't think he fell down all the stairs. I only heard one thump."

Anthea glanced at him, then looked back at her mobile. Greg ran a hand through his hair and fidgeted, trying not to drum his fingers on the arm of the chair.

He looked at the TV in the corner without really paying attention. It couldn't be that bad of an injury, he told himself. Mycroft was still awake and talking, after all.

Anthea got up at some point and Greg watched her walk towards the back. She'd just gone around the corner when Sherlock showed up, John in tow. "Where is he?"

"Being examined," said Greg. "I think Anthea just went back to check on him."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. John pulled him over and put him in the seat next to Greg. "I'm sure we'll know something soon. What happened?"

"I think he just slipped on the stairs," said Greg. 

"They can be dangerous," said John. "Don't beat yourself up about it. Accidents are accidents."

"Thanks," said Greg, giving him a weak smile and then looking up as Anthea reappeared.

"Sherlock can see him, as he's family," said Anthea, gesturing Sherlock at a waiting nurse. He hopped up and went to her. Anthea took the seat he'd vacated.

"Sprained ankle, possible minor concussion, but he'll be fine," she said.

Greg let out a breath. "Thanks for checking."

Anthea nodded and went back to her mobile. "Would you be willing to stay with him for a few days while he recovers?"

"Me? Yeah, sure. I'll have to talk to the boss, but I never use up my vacation time anyway."

Anthea gave him a thin smile. "I'll take care of it."

Greg suspected she very much would. Sherlock reappeared a few minutes later and gestured to Greg. 

Taking a breath, Greg followed him into the back and led him into a room. Greg felt his heart skip as he looked at Mycroft in the bed. "How you feeling?"

"I do believe I'm rather well medicated at the moment," said Mycroft. "Thank you."

"Yeah well, we're friends, right? What was I going to do, leave you at the bottom of the stairs?"

"That wouldn't have been very gentlemanly of you," said Mycroft, shifting a bit. "I've been told I'll have to stay home for a bit of time."

"Yeah. And I'll be there to help you out. Anthea asked me to."

Mycroft glanced heavenward. "Of course she did."

Greg frowned. "I'm sure you can get a proper nurse if you prefer," he said.

"No, I don't need that much help, Thank you."

"At the very least I can make sure you actually rest. I'll bring over my  _ Doctor Who _ DVDs. You keep saying you mean to watch it."

"I suppose there's no running from it now. Literally or figuratively." Mycroft looked down at his ankle as if it was the source of all his troubles.

Greg hesitated then picked up his hand. "Did you just slip?"

"I believe so. After everything I've done it would be very ironic if it were my stairs that did me in."

"John told me that the stairs are fairly dangerous," said Greg. He itched to reach out and take Mycroft's hand, reassure himself that he really was fine, but he refrained. He glanced over and saw that Sherlock had already left them. "Maybe I'll make it up to you and trip over a kerb."

"I'd rather you didn't," said Mycroft, closing his eyes.

Greg sighed. "You did give me a bit of a fright," he admitted. "But you'll be on the mend sooner rather than later."

"I do hope so," said Mycroft. "I'm not particularly a fan of hospitals."

Greg took a breath and did reach out, putting his hand on Mycroft's arm. "I'm sure we'll get you out sooner rather than later."

Mycroft opened his eyes and looked up at him, only for the doctor and a nurse to come in. Greg took the hint and stepped out, going back to the waiting room. There was no sign of Sherlock or Anthea, but John was still there.

"I think they'll be releasing him soon," said John. "Sherlock said he went to check something in the cafeteria but between you and me I think he's having a smoke."

"I don't blame him," said Greg, sitting down again and feeling his own itch for one, now that the danger was gone. "Mycroft seemed pretty coherent. They'll probably just have him on crutches and tell him to stay home a few days."

John nodded. "If he's anything like Sherlock he'll be fully on the mend before you know it."

"Oh I think they're a lot more alike than either of them is willing to admit."

John smiled. "I think you're right."

Greg resumed looking at the TV. Sherlock came back a little bit later and loudly complained to John that there was no reason to be there and they should just go. John gave Greg a look.

"We'll be fine," he said.

John nodded and followed Sherlock back out.

A little bit later Mycroft came down the hall on crutches, a nurse hovering by his side. Greg put aside his own feelings and quickly got to his feet. The nurse handed him a bag of medications. "Did you drive?"

"Yeah. Let me just go get the car," said Greg, looking at Mycroft a moment longer before hurrying out to pull up to the exit.

They got Mycroft and his crutches into the car and Greg headed back for Mycroft's house. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like I just took a tumble down the stairs," grumbled Mycroft. "I think some of the pain meds are wearing off."

"We'll get you more when we've got you home."

"I should sleep downstairs, I think," said Mycroft. "Not sure I'm up for negotiation with my nemesis just yet."

Greg chuckled. "Alright. We'll get you settled on the sofa for now."

"I suspect Anthea is already moving things around in the study to put a proper bed in there."

"Oh, probably," said Greg. "She's not actually magic or a ninja, is she?"

Mycroft gave him a small smile. "I can neither confirm nor deny."

"Of course," said Greg, coming to a stop at a light. He looked over at Mycroft. "I really am glad you're okay."

"I am truly glad that you were there," admitted Mycroft. "I hate to think of what might have happened if you weren't."

"Yeah, I'm glad I was there, too." Greg looked at him a moment longer, then the light changed and he focused on the road.

They arrived at Mycroft's house to find that everything was in its place in the front room and that, indeed, a small bed had been tucked away into the study, already made up and everything.

"Why don't I order us something in," said Greg. "I'll bring you some water and you can get comfortable on the sofa."

"Alright," said Mycroft, carefully making his way into the den.

Greg glared at the stairs, then went to get him that glass of water.

They were soon on the sofa together, Mycroft picking out some documentary on Victorian England, his sprained ankle up on the coffee table. Greg was very aware of the gap between them.

They'd become friends, over time. It was why he'd been here at all when everything had happened. And he'd been aware of other feelings for quite a while, too. 

He hated to think of what might have happened if he hadn't been here, or if the tumble had been worse. But did Mycroft feel the same way? Sure he'd learned to relax around Greg, but that didn't mean that he was interested in anything more.

Still, Greg put his hand on the sofa, a bit closer than was strictly polite, but depending on how far gone on the pain meds Mycroft was, he might not even notice.

Almost imperceptibly, Mycroft's fingers reached out to touch his. Greg's heart skipped for the second time that day. Biting his lip, he scooted a little bit closer and took Mycroft's hand. 

Without looking away from the TV, Mycroft closed the gap and leaned against his shoulder. Greg smiled softly and shifted to put an arm around him, just holding him gently. He felt Mycroft start to drift off to sleep a short time later and start to slip over. Carefully, Greg put Mycroft’s head in his lap and carded his fingers through his hair, reaching over with the other hand to grab the remote and change the channel. 

Mycroft started awake when the doorbell rang. "Sorry, that's dinner," said Greg, gently helping him sit up and going to answer it. He smiled at Mycroft unkempt hair when he returned with the bag. "Hungry?"

"A bit. Can you get me my pain medication?"

Greg's smile quickly dropped. "Yeah, sure." He put the bag on the coffee table and went to fetch the meds, dropping them off and then going into the kitchen to get more water for both of them. 

Mycroft parceled out the food and they sat back again to eat, Mycroft barely paying attention to what Greg had on the telly. "If you need to go to bed after we eat, you know that's fine. I'll stick around,” said Greg

"I'm sure you will," answered Mycroft, putting down his plate and picking up his crutches to make his way unsteadily towards the study.

Greg watched him go, a bit worried if he was honest. But probably just the medications hitting him. He got the food cleaned up and put back in the kitchen, then came back to channel surf a little more.

He had just started to nod off on the sofa when he heard a noise from the direction of the study. Greg got up and quickly went to the door. "Mycroft?"

"Sorry, bad dream," Mycroft was sitting up and scrubbing his face in his hands, looking oddly vulnerable.

Greg didn't turn on the light as he crossed the room. He sat on the edge of the bed and put his arms around him, gently folding him against his chest. "Don't like hospitals, do you?"

"I was badly injured early in my twenties and spent far more time in one then I wanted," he said quietly. "I did my best to avoid legwork after that."

"I can understand. I never liked them much after my Dad passed." Greg pressed a gentle kiss to Mycroft's temple. Maybe it was too much, but it felt right.

Mycroft took a shuddering breath. "Thank you." he murmured.

"Welcome," said Greg. "I know you can't tell me about your James Bond years."

Mycroft snorted. "I was never James Bond."

"Well, I know you weren't Maxwell Smart." Greg took a breath. 

"Yes, thank you, I am at least competent."

Smiling, Greg lay down on his side, tucking Mycroft against him. "Is this okay?"

"Yes," answered Mycroft. He raised his head, looked at Greg's face for a long moment, then leaned in and kissed him.

Greg cupped his cheek and kissed him back, sighing softly. It felt right. It felt like coming home.

They lay close together for what felt like ages, sipping soft kisses, hands above the belt but reveling in the privilege of touch. Greg could only imagine how long it had been since Mycroft had allowed himself to be cuddled and kissed his way. 

Finally, though, Mycroft pulled back and looked into Greg's eyes. "I'm sorry I scared you with my fall, but I'm not sorry for this."

"Neither am I. I... I've been attracted to you for a while, truth be told."

"I suspected," said Mycroft, "but I was afraid to hope."

"Well, now you know for sure," said Greg, leaning and kissing him one more time. "How are you feeling? Any more pain?"

"Not at the moment. I know this bed is a bit small, but will you stay with me?"

"As long as you like," promised Greg, folding him against his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Unabeta'd so any errors are mine. You can find me on twitter and tumblr @merindab


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